I, surprisingly, didn't feel hungry that night, so instead of going to the Great Hall for dinner I went out to the darkening grounds, down to the edge of the lake. On the way I saw Neville, with Professor Moody, being led back into the classroom. I felt his magical eye on me as I silently sympathized. Neville was pale, and staring into space. I didn't feel much better myself. Shaking free of Draco as he headed towards the Great Hall, I also glimpsed my Harry, Hermione and Ron. Harry also looked a bit shocked, Hermione was scowling, but Ron looked thralled by the lesson. Those spells were illegal. The most illegal spells, I realised, resting my head against the willow tree behind me. To show them in a classroom…
I let my head fall forward onto my drawn up knees, shuddering. And to think I had to be in that classroom again tomorrow morning. Was he going to loose the Blast Ended Skrewts, or some other dangerous creature on us? I felt sick again, and there was a ringing in my ears, from the screams I had heard from the spider and my own memories.
"I thought I'd find you here." George Weasleys' voice came out of the darkness further along the shore.
"Hey, I thought she'd be here. It was my idea." Fred argued. The twins ducked under the low branches, coming over to where I sat. I forced a smile that I hoped was reassuring.
"We both thought you'd be here." George grudgingly admitted. "You missed dinner. We brought you a few rolls, in case you were hungry. Harry and Ron were a bit worried."
"Hermione went to the library." Fred rolled his eyes, handing me a roll as he sat down beside me. George dropped down on my left.
"A bit worried is an understatement, George." Fred continued. "Harry looked pretty bad over tea, and Ron told us what happened in DADA. Hit you a bit harder, did it?"
I looked down at the roll, which I was shredding, not eating. "I'm alright, stop fussing so much. You don't need to worry." I forced a slightly better smile up for them, deciding Professor Moody was as mad as his name proclaimed. What was at the manors of home, stayed there, and a crazy teacher flaunting illegal spells in a classroom was not going to give anyone cause to worry enough to ask questions.
A few weeks passed uneventfully and I forced myself not to worry the others. Many lessons, even Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons, passed uneventfully, before Mad-Eye Moody brought out the next batch of crazy. He announced that he was going to put us under the Imperius curse the following lesson. The other professors had been handing out more and more homework, and making lessons harder as well, which Professor McGonagall explained was in preparation for the O. the following year. I almost thought that the teachers had a bet going; which student would break down first. Idly, I watched Neville do amazing gymnastic feats, and Hermione sing opera. None of my classmates seem to have any control, and unable to fight off the effects of the curse.
"Miss Potter." Moody growled, as nervously I stepped forwards into the cleared space. "Imperio."
A calm came over me, and everything seemed better, and brighter. Why should I worry about Harry and the tournament? Why should I worry about homework, and Professor Moody?
As if summoning him, his voice spoke, faintly, very far away. 'Do a handstand … do a handstand, and walk around on your hands for a bit …'
That didn't seem like such a bad suggestion. Why shouldn't I? Obediently I pushed myself up into a handstand (which, I normally cannot do, actually), and walked around the classroom.
'Good,' the voice came back. 'Now, stand back up … stand back up and push your sleeves to your elbows … push your sleeves up …'
Smiling dreamily, I stood from my handstand and pushed up my right sleeve, before reaching for my left.
But I shouldn't do that.
'Push your sleeves up.' The voice commanded. But I didn't like that. My left arm was … what was wrong with it? I couldn't seem to remember, so why should it matter? Shrugging to myself in my dreamland I grabbed my left sleeve. Then I remembered. My left arm … it was disfigured. I shouldn't push my sleeve up. I removed my hand again.
'Push your sleeves up!' the voice got more insistent. But did it seem quieter?
'No! I won't!' I thought back, decidedly pulling my right sleeve down safely. As if waking up, the fog over my brain lifted, and I swayed on the spot. Looking around, I saw Draco watching, halfway out of his seat, looking panicked. I felt his fear. My arm wasn't disfigured; it was branded, branded by the Dark Mark since I was eleven, and if I had showed that in a classroom …
I glared at Professor Moody, as I slunk back to my seat. He could see through cloth, and he had known it was there. He hadn't told Professor Dumbledore, or I would have been questioned by now, so why try to make me show it in a classroom? Was he testing me? Was he testing my resistance to his curse, or if I had any loyalty to the Dark Lord? The only loyalty I had stemmed from fear of rejection, and that twisted loyalty had given me the power to overcome his curse. What the hell was he playing at?
"Very good work, Miss Potter." He growled, watching me walk to the back of the class. "She threw off my curse, after a moment of submission. This is what I want you all to learn. CONSTANT VIGILANCE! Mr Potter, you next."
After classes for the day finished, the news swept through school that the delegations for Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would be arriving the following Friday, and that the lessons would end an hour early in preparation for such. If at all possible, excitement levels around the school rose, the Triwizard Tournament becoming one of the only topics discussed among students. There was still much resentment over the age restriction that was set, but not even that had much of a dampening effect on the week preceding Halloween. Sadly, it wasn't just the students infected by the excitement. Filch rose to new heights of fury, and the school was scrubbed clean, much to the disgust of some of its inhabitants.
On Friday, you could have cut the tension with a butter knife. No one could pay attention in class, and even more surprisingly, none of the teachers minded. Shortly after six, with much pomp, the Beauxbatons carriage arrived. It was a huge affair, pulled by huge winged horses. All explicable thanks to the huge woman who stepped out of it, followed by a dozen or so students wearing impractical robes of silk. None of them had cloaks, and most of them were shivering. A little while later, the Durmstrang students arrived, a skeletal-looking ship rising out of the depths of the lake. As opposite as could be to the Beauxbatons students, each of the Durmstrang students was dressed in bulky furs. After the pleasantries, the students again moved forward, led by their headmaster, who had an arm about one of his other students shoulders. Rapidly, whispers spread through the crowd; it was Viktor Krum, Quidditch legend who many students had just watched play over summer. Sighing at the foolishness surely to come, I turned and walked with the other students back towards the castle.